


Free Falling

by Pale (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Female Characters, Female Protagonist, Female-Centric, LGBTQ Female Character, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-08
Updated: 2011-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Pale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rolanda applies for a job at Hogwarts, it's Minerva's task to interview her. Their meeting is overshadowed by memories of the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Minerva Fest 2010 on LJ.
> 
> Many thanks to my fabulous beta, [tetley](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tetley).

Rolanda Hooch was afraid of heights.

Her father had bought her her first broomstick when she was five, expecting his only child to follow in his footsteps. She had cried when he took her flying for the very first time, but he had mistaken her screams for screams of delight.

Orlando Hooch was a hero of the Quidditch pitch. The whole wizarding world had lain at his feet when in 1853, he secured the World Cup for England with a spectacular dive. _Seeker of the Century_ and _Conqueror of Gravity_ were only a few of the titles the press had bestowed upon him. When Rolanda grew up in the 1910s, his fame was long gone. She knew him as a Hog's Head fixture, a souse who traded stories of past glory for shots of Firewhisky. She couldn't have said whether she was proud of him or ashamed.

Flying lessons were an exception. He was sober then, and Rolanda the centre of his world. She didn't want to lose this because she couldn't get over an idle fear, and so she worked hard on herself. By the time she got her Hogwarts letter, she had become a promising flyer.

She never really lost her fear, but channelled it into recklessness.

 

 _There are days when Minerva hates Albus Dumbledore, and today is one of them. She could have hexed the twinkle off his eyes over breakfast this morning, when he told her about the job interview between two bites of toast. It might be part of her duties as deputy headmistress to evaluate candidates for a teaching position, as Albus gleefully informed her, but in the past, he has never delegated this kind of tasks. He enjoys it too much to grill applicants over tea and lemon drops. Sometimes, Minerva suspects him to have a sadistic streak._

 _She sends a coach to the train station for the ten-thirty from Newcastle and opens the candidate's portfolio. It can't tell her anything she doesn't already know, but she nevertheless stares at it for over ten minutes before she finally pushes it away to make tea. She puts a tin of Ginger Newts on her desk, then changes her mind and levitates it over to the small table in front of the fireplace. Two teacups follow, and, after some consideration, the tin of her favourite chocolate Biscuit Bears she has hidden behind mediaeval tomes in an attempt to resist temptation._

 _The dreaded knock at the door comes at exactly ten thirty-seven, too early for the coach to be back. Minerva quickly adjusts her bun and sits down behind her desk, opening one of the books there at random._

 _"Come in!"_

 _The door opens and closes, but Minerva waits another five seconds before she looks up from her book._

 _Windswept and travel-worn, Rolanda stands in the middle of Minerva's office, clutching her old Silver Arrow in both hands. Minerva is struck by the fact of an over-seventy-year-old broom still being in perfect working order. It looks meticulously cared for, and just as sleek and elegant as it did in its halcyon days._

 _The same can't be said of its owner. Rolanda's shabby robes have been mended repeatedly, and her boots are old and worn at the heels. Her hair has turned grey, and the skin of her face resembles leather. But one thing that hasn't changed is the bold look in her eyes._

 

They met for the first time in 1948. Rolanda had just been made captain of the Holyhead Harpies, and was now scouting the Wizarding Oxbridge Colleges Quidditch League for a new Chaser for her team. She remembered it as clearly as if it was only yesterday.

Cliodne College versus Hengist Hall. Nine agonizing hours into the match -- Hengist had just brought the score up to 250 - 390 -- one of the Cliodne Chasers fell off her broom in complete exhaustion. The Cliodne coach substituted her immediately. As the reserve entered the match, all of a sudden, the Snitch glimmered into existence near the bottom of the Hengist goal posts. Wasting no time to secure the Quaffle, the reserve approached the goals at high speed. She scored the moment the Hengist Seeker spotted the Snitch. In a death-defying dive, the Cliodne Chaser recaptured the Quaffle and scored a second time. Realising too late what had happened, the Hengist Seeker caught the Snitch and lost the game for his team. Final score: 410 - 400 for Cliodne College.

Rolanda whooped and cheered, and decided to acquire that Chaser for her team, no matter the cost. At the reception after the match, she looked out for the promising new talent. Unfortunately, before she could spot her, Rolanda was spotted herself.

"Rolanda Hooch!" the Cliodne coach greeted her exuberantly. "What brings England's best female Seeker to visit our humble match?"

Rolanda gritted her teeth. She hated when people referred to her sex. If they couldn't bring themselves to call her the best Seeker in the league and leave it at that, they could stuff it. Only the thought of her mission made her refrain from excusing herself immediately. When she asked for the reserve Chaser, she was met with another unpleasant surprise.

"Minerva McGonagall?" The name was said with so much disdain as if this McGonagall was Grindelwald himself. "That girl isn't premier league material. I only let her play today because I had no other choice."

"What's wrong with her?" Rolanda asked nonplussed. "She was amazing."

"That was pure luck, believe me. She isn't much of a talent. A bluestocking, you know, and a ..." The coach leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, "... Mudblood."

 

Disgruntled, Rolanda left the reception soon afterwards. If it was true that McGonagall was Muggle-born, Rolanda would have a hard time to convince management to hire her. But convince them she would. That what’s-her-name coach was an idiot if she let her prejudice cloud her judgement to the point that she didn't recognise a great talent any more.

Waiting in line at the broom closet counter, Rolanda pondered the problem. She pricked up her ears when she heard McGonagall's name. "Thank you, Minerva," a red-bearded wizard said as he received his broom and a purple travelling cloak.

Rolanda took in the young witch behind the counter. She was thin and tall, and held herself very erect. Her small face with the pointed chin all but disappeared behind heavy rimmed National Health Service glasses, which gave it an owlish appearance. She wore faded green robes, and her black hair was braided into two long plaits that fell down her back.

"Congratulations!" Rolanda said, having finally reached the front of the line. "Those were the best two goals I've seen this season." She stretched out her hand. "You are Minerva McGonagall, aren't you?"

McGonagall's handshake was surprisingly firm. "Thank you." Then, businesslike, "May I see your ticket, please?"

Digging around in her trouser pockets for the broom closet ticket, Rolanda flashed her her most charming smile. "You should try out for the Harpies. I have it on good authority that they're looking for a Chaser."

McGonagall remained indifferent to this. For a second, Rolanda wondered if she didn't take her seriously. Or perhaps she hadn't recognised her -- although, that could hardly be the case. Since that bloody Chocolate Frog card had come out, Rolanda couldn't go anywhere any more without people approaching her for autographs. Maybe McGonagall was just shy.

"You needn't worry about competition," Rolanda said encouragingly. "I'll champion you." She winked for good measure.

"Thank you, Miss Hooch." McGonagall's voice was brisk and confident, and she didn't sound shy in the least. "I'm flattered by your offer, but I'm afraid I have to decline it."

Decline? Rolanda was gobsmacked. What could be better than playing Quidditch for the best team in the league? "Do you have an offer from abroad?"

A small smile played on McGonagall's lips. "Hardly. I got accepted into the Ph.D. programme in Transfiguration."

Oh. So she _was_ a bluestocking. "Congratulations," Rolanda said uncertainly, finally producing the ticket and sliding it across the counter. She wouldn't give up on McGonagall yet, but she had to think of a better strategy.

When McGonagall turned to fetch Rolanda's leather jacket and broom, Rolanda noticed that her braids reached down to the small of her back. She had the sudden urge to pull them, and thrust her hands into her pockets so as not to give in to it.

McGonagall returned with Rolanda's things. Her hand lingered on the broomstick as she put it on the counter. "Is this a Silver Arrow? I thought they didn't make them any more."

Was there awe in her voice? Rolanda nodded enthusiastically. "They stopped manufacturing them in 1923. This is a Model 7, built in 1916. My very first broom, and still in perfect working order. I can't use it professionally, of course, but I have yet to find another broomstick more suitable for long distance travel."

They looked at each other, their hands almost touching on the handle. Something strange happened to Rolanda at this very moment.

 _She was back at home, hovering high above their backyard, with her legs in a knot and her hands cramped around the handle of the broom. The wind was ruffling her hair and robes, and from far below, her father was calling her. Her eyes were closed. She imagined herself far away, on a soft lawn, playing the silly ball games of her Muggle friends. But the wind intensified, and her father's voice became louder._

The memory was so vivid that Rolanda had difficulties to keep her balance and clutched the counter to steady herself. McGonagall eyed her with an unreadable expression.

"On the ground, I'm a bit of an oaf." Rolanda grinned, slowly regaining her poise. "I haven't introduced myself properly. I'm Rolanda."

McGonagall pursed her lips, and for a second, Rolanda was afraid she'd rebuff her. Then McGonagall's lips began to twitch. "Minerva."

They bowed their heads in mock-formality. Minerva was still touching the Arrow, and Rolanda banished the lump of terror from her stomach like she had learned to do so long ago.

"Fancy a ride, Minerva?"

 

 _Slipping the Arrow into the broomstick holder behind the door, Rolanda turns to the small table next to the fireplace. She takes a Biscuit Bear from the tin and bites the head off. "Still indulging your sweet tooth, I see."_

 _"Still a bit of an oaf on the ground, I see." Minerva smiles as she steps from behind her desk and opens her arms._

 _The hug that follows is awkward, an uncomfortable balancing act between touching and avoiding touch. Standing several feet apart, they bend at the waist so that only their shoulders meet. Minerva pats Rolanda's back and releases her quickly. "Have a seat. Tea?"_

 _Pouring tea and adding two spoons of sugar to Rolanda's cup, Minerva longs for a shot of Ogden's Old. Her eyes fall on the drawer that holds her stash of Firewhisky, but then she remembers how much Rolanda despises alcohol. She picks up Rolanda's portfolio from the desk and joins her at the tea table, clasping the leather folder in front of her like a shield._

 _"It's good to see you again," she says, sipping her tea and wishing she could Transfigure the hedgehog formality in her voice into a warm tartan blanket. It's against the first law of Transfiguration, though. From the similar to the similar. Hedgehogs make excellent pincushions or cactuses, but in order to Transfigure them into blankets, so many steps are needed that it would kill them in the process._

 _Munching on her third Bear, Rolanda watches her in silence. Hawkeye Hooch they used to call her, and Minerva feels like a Snitch under her gaze. She opens the portfolio on her knees and skims through it, starting the interview in her most professional voice._

 _"You're of course more than qualified for the position as Hogwarts Quidditch coach. As flight instructor, though, you'll have to do with first-years, some of which have never seen a flying broomstick before. How do you feel about teaching?"_

 _"I readily admit that I prefer coaching the House teams." Rolanda shrugs. "But I like teaching well enough."_

 _"You last worked as a coach for the Newcastle Newts Under 11s. The management dissolved your contract after only two and a half months. What happened?"_

 _"What always happens." Rolanda beheads a Ginger Newt defiantly. "They got wind of the old scandal."_

 

Minerva joined the Holyhead Harpies in 1952, after having completed her Ph.D. with distinction. Despite her excellent marks, she had great difficulties finding a job. No one would hire a Muggle-born witch. Rolanda had to pull a lot of strings to convince management to let her try out, and in the end, she was forced to play her trump card and remind them of the fact that her contract was about to expire soon. "I'm considering a lucrative offer from the Montrose Magpies," she bluffed. "If I made it a condition of joining, I'm sure they would hire McGonagall in an instant."

That settled it. Minerva still only made the reserve. Gwendolyn Morgan, the Chaser the Harpies had acquired in Minerva's stead four years ago, had become an indispensable part of the team, while Minerva had lost some of her old form over Animagus training. "What's so important about turning into a bloody animal anyway?" Rolanda huffed during one of their extra practice hours, chasing Minerva across the spacious backyard of Rolanda's Anglesey home.

Of course, people asked Rolanda why she was going to such great lengths to champion a Muggle-born bluestocking. She didn't deem this worthy of an answer. Couldn't they see for themselves what a great talent Minerva was? Besides, Rolanda had better things to do than to think about her relationship with Minerva. The World Cup was close at hand, and Rolanda had yet to prove that she was indeed England's best Seeker.

The autumn season of 1952 saw her greatest triumphs. She never failed to catch the Snitch, and she did it with so much aplomb that they started to call her _Hawkeye Hooch_. Her feints became as famous as her actual catches, and her most daring dive went down into the Quidditch annals as _Hooch Hoax_.

 

December brought low temperatures and fog, and finally, finally, the letter Rolanda had been awaiting for so long. Minerva had joined her for another weekend of backyard practice sessions, and they were sitting at the breakfast table when the owl of the Quidditch Association arrived.

Rolanda recognised the official seal. As she tried to untie the letter, her hands shook so badly that the bird pecked her fingers in an attempt to protect itself from harm. Minerva came to her aid, placating the owl with a piece of bacon so that Rolanda could free the letter at last.

She didn't dare open it. This one letter held all her hopes and dreams. She stared at it for a while, then followed an instinct and placed it in Minerva's hands.

"Read it. Don't tell me what's in it. Just read it."

Turning her back to Minerva, Rolanda could hear the crackling of parchment. The silence that followed was complete. Minerva didn't shout with joy. She didn't sigh, or gasp, or shuffle her feet. She didn't reveal anything at all.

This could only mean one thing: She wanted to spare Rolanda's feelings.

So Rolanda hadn't made it into the national team as first Seeker after all. Her hopes to win the World Cup for England -- smashed. Her dream to follow in her father's footsteps exactly one hundred years after his greatest triumph -- destroyed.

Rolanda needed some time for herself before she could face her defeat. Her shoulders were heavy, and her feet barely left the ground as she made her way to the door. Minerva called her back the moment her fingers touched the handle.

"Don't you want to know what the QA has to tell you?"

Was there a hint of amusement in Minerva's voice? Rolanda turned around to see her hide a sly smile. "You're having me on," Rolanda protested. "What's in that letter?"

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "I'm doing no such thing. I was merely trying my best to follow your orders."

"All right then." Rolanda moved closer and stretched her hand out. "Give me the letter now."

"I don't think it's a good idea. The content might upset you." Minerva smiled outright as she stepped away from Rolanda and hid the letter behind her back. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes glinted behind her glasses.

"Give me the letter!" Rolanda pounced on Minerva as if she was a particularly elusive Snitch. Only she didn't feel like one. Where a Snitch was fluttery and metallic cold, Minerva was warm and solid. Rolanda could feel Minerva's soft breasts against her own, and Minerva's breath was hot on her face as Rolanda wrapped her arms around her to seize the parchment.

"Wrong move," Minerva teased as she in turn wrapped her arms around Rolanda so that the letter was now in Rolanda's back. Locked in embrace, they stood motionless. Rolanda was unsure what to do, and she listened to Minerva's heartbeat as if it knew the answer.

 _Her heart hammered in her chest, and she could barely breathe as she pushed the broom handle down to follow her father's command. The Arrow wobbled, then went into rapid descent. She slid forward on the handle, nearly losing her balance. Afraid to fall off the broom, she clenched it even tighter. The Arrow started to spin. The ground came closer and closer._

"It's all right," Minerva whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You made the national team. You're England's first Seeker, the best Seeker of the league."

They started holding hands after this. It seemed only natural. Rolanda was on top of the world, unbeatable, and Minerva's presence at her side strengthened her belief that she could conquer anything.

 

"You'll make the first team soon, you'll see," Rolanda told Minerva one afternoon in the stands of the Holyhead Quidditch Stadium after a particularly successful practice session. "You can outfly Morgan any time now."

"You sure?" Glynnis Griffiths, the reserve Seeker, had sneaked up on them. She blew a bubblegum bubble and let it pop close to Rolanda's ear. "You two are awfully close. Maybe you lost perspective."

Giggling behind her hand, Griffiths swaggered away. She plopped down into the seat next to Morgan a couple of rows below, and the two of them stuck their heads together and started to whisper like two silly schoolgirls.

"What the hell was that?" Rolanda turned to Minerva to see if she had an explanation for Griffiths's irrational behaviour, but Minerva only looked at her with an unreadable expression in her eyes. Rolanda pressed her hand reassuringly and turned her attention back to the pitch where the Beaters were still sending Bludgers each other's way.

When the rumours began to appear in the press, Rolanda was more amused than anything else, cracking jokes about dimwitted journalists wherever she went. Minerva was disturbingly quiet. "Don't worry about all this nonsense," Rolanda tried to encourage her. "Everyone knows what a bunch of liars they are at the Prophet. Illicit lovers, deviants ..." She snorted. "This is beyond ridiculous." But Minerva kept a stiff upper lip and her silence.

Then a photo of their New Year's kiss made it onto the cover of the Prophet, and Rolanda couldn't ignore the situation any longer. "Do I really look at you like that?" she asked Minerva in confusion.

 

 _The old scandal. Minerva gives a slight nod and sits even more erect. Over the years, she has compartmentalised the affair, dissected it into isolated facts that are easier to bear._

 _She has banished from her mind the envious girls that started it. Morgan and Griffiths, she barely remembers their names. She'll never forgive them, but they're ghosts of the past, and she doesn't dream of revenge every night any longer._

 _She hasn't forgotten how management treated Rolanda and herself, firing Minerva immediately and trying to force Rolanda into a marriage of convenience to keep up appearances. She remembers the blacklist, and the harassment from the press. These events have shaped her life and turned her into the witch she is today._

 _But it's her own guilt that has never stopped haunting her. She still dreams of Rolanda sometimes, and she wakes from these dreams covered in sweat. If only she had told Rolanda of the stares and whispers and snide remarks. If Rolanda had known, she might have acted more sensibly and less like a bull in a china shop. Minerva's convinced that she could have prevented the worst, but she's been a coward and kept her mouth shut, enjoying Rolanda's friendship too much to risk it. However young and foolish and madly in love she may have been, it doesn't excuse anything._

 _Minerva closes Rolanda's portfolio with a snap. It's time to stop pretending that this is an ordinary job interview. She stands and walks to the window. Outside she can see the Quidditch pitch, and she tries to imagine Rolanda circling high above the stands._

 _"Of course I'll advise the Headmaster to employ you. You're more than qualified for the position."_

 _"I know. But that's not the point."_

 _Minerva turns her head in astonishment as Rolanda joins her at the window. "What is the point?" she inquires briskly._

 _Placing both hands on the windowsill, Rolanda leans closer than necessary or appropriate. "What I want to know, and the reason why I asked Dumbledore for an interview with you when he offered me the position, is the following ..." She pauses and stares at Minerva with yellow eyes._

 _Minerva shivers, but she hides the effect Rolanda's closeness has on her and doesn't move. "Yes?"_

 _"I want to know whether or not **you** are all right with us being colleagues. Can you stand the thought of meeting me every morning at the breakfast table? And in the staffroom, for a chat over tea?"_

 _Pushing herself off of the sill and whirling around, she crosses the room and asks Minerva's empty desk, "Have you forgiven me?"_

 

Rolanda glared at the glass in front of her. It was filled to the brim with cheap Firewhisky. The wireless was playing an inane song about a wand and a cauldron. Rolanda wanted nothing more than to be drunk, but she couldn't bring herself to take the first sip. She remembered her father. "Codswallop," he used to say when her mother reproached him for being drunk again. "I've earned my right to enjoy myself occasionally."

Rolanda had earned nothing at all. As the voice of the sportscaster took over again, continuing his lament of England's defeat of the century, she pointed her wand at the glass and blasted it into smithereens.

Hours later, Minerva found her still sitting at the kitchen table among glass shards and puddles of alcohol. Taking her time to heal the cuts on Rolanda's face, she touched every single one of them first with the tip of her wand, then with her finger, before she Vanished the mess with a wave of her wand.

Minerva's touch was soothing, and Rolanda didn't resist when she put an arm around her waist, guiding her into the living room and depositing her on the sofa. As if moving had dislocated something inside her, it burst out of her in between bouts of laughter, "If only I had given in and married, England would have won the World Cup today."

Minerva's hand stilled in Rolanda's hair, and her whole body went rigid. She spoke so softly that Rolanda could barely make out the words. "Why haven't you?"

Had Rolanda been drunk, the mix of hope and despair in Minerva's voice would have cleared her head. But Rolanda was painfully sober, and so Minerva's emotions struck a deeper chord. Ripping through layers of self-deception and half-truths, relegating to the sidelines Rolanda's pride and stubbornness, they brought to the surface a surprising, if simple, truth. "How could I?" Rolanda said full of wonder. "When it's you I love?"

 

Rolanda spent all of 1953 and most of 1954 looking for a job. Wherever she went, she was met with closed doors, empty smiles, or lame excuses. The manager of the Chudley Cannons made it unmistakably clear that losing was preferable to hiring a pervert, and not even the Fourth Division clubs were interested in employing her. When in the autumn of 1954 it became obvious that she would have to sell her Anglesey home to pay her many debts, the news came almost as a relief. It was high time for a change.

Minerva rented a flat for the two of them in Edinburgh, where she had found a job as an assistant in a Muggle library. They met there in the spring of 1955. Minerva put a brave face on matters, but behind her jaunty greeting and the expressed joy at being back in Scotland, Rolanda could sense her unhappiness. Minerva was an ambitious witch, and for years, she had been prevented from working in her field. Thanks to Rolanda's foolhardiness, she now even had to leave the wizarding world behind. For the first time, it dawned on Rolanda that she might have done her a disservice in persuading the Harpies management to hire her.

The flat was a dump. Walls and carpets were covered with stains, and the bathroom, the size of a less-than-average broom closet, smelled of sewage. Most of the tiles were broken, and the grout was infested with mildew. The furniture consisted of a three-legged table, two chairs that didn't match, and a sofa with exposed springs.

It took them all weekend to make it habitable. Rolanda learned more about cleaning spells than she ever wanted to know, but it was Minerva who bore the brunt of the work. Bit by tiny bit, she Transfigured the hell-hole into a cosy home.

"Wow! You outdid yourself." Rolanda was deeply impressed as she flopped down onto the comfortable hunter-green sofa and took in the tartan wallpaper and the bookshelves that covered one wall from floor to ceiling. Everything was perfect, right down to little details like the pattern of silver broomsticks adorning the sofa cushions. The bedroom was the only thing that worried Rolanda. It was tiny, and it contained only one bed.

They never talked about sex, and except for a few chaste kisses and hugs, holding hands was all they ever did. Rolanda preferred it that way, but then, she was probably unlike most people in this regard. Suspecting that Minerva wanted to take their relationship to another level, she went to bed that night with a feeling of apprehension.

Minerva looked stunning with her hair down. Gleaming blue-black in the candlelight, it fell down her back like a luxurious velvet cloak. Worthy of a queen, Rolanda thought, but she was too much of a coward to compliment her on it. Hiding under the covers, she pretended to be asleep. As Minerva joined her and started to place soft kisses on her neck, Rolanda faked a loud snore.

 

The next morning, Minerva was already gone when Rolanda woke up. There was a bowl of cereals on the kitchen table, and a street map. Shrinking her Arrow and pocketing it for good luck, Rolanda put on her old leather jacket and a glamour before she ventured forth into the Muggle world.

It took some time to learn the basics, like using the tram or making sense of the silly slips of paper with the portraits of old kings or the new queen on them, but once she'd managed not to make a fool out of herself any more, finding a job was surprisingly easy. She asked at the greengrocer's, and the saleswoman at the counter sent her to the docks, promising that there was plenty of work, "for a strapping lad like you."

Manual labour appealed to Rolanda, and an assortment of levitation spells and hover charms helped her to get along well. The only difficulty was not to make everything look too effortless. She watched her fellow workers closely, and by the end of the shift she'd got the hang of it. She felt like celebrating. Deciding to forego the tram tonight, she de-shrunk her Arrow in a deserted back alley and soared high into the air. For a few hours, she forgot everything around her.

Back at home, the bedroom door was closed, and Minerva nowhere to be seen. On the coffee table, Rolanda found a tin with a single, headless, Biscuit Bear. Next to it lay an open book. Rolanda eyed it curiously. _Sexual Behavior in the Human Female_ , it said on top of the page. The section about the clitoris was marked with a chocolate thumbprint.

Rolanda pointed her wand at the stain and Vanished it. Minerva must have been really upset to leave it there. She usually kept her books so pristine. Rolanda slumped onto the sofa, and, weary as she was of the whole sex business, for Minerva's sake, she started to read.

 

Friday night, she bought flowers and cooked a fancy dinner. She had it all planned out. Rolanda might not be interested in sex, but that didn't mean that she couldn't try and fulfil Minerva's needs.

It started so well. The sea food cocktail and the chicken casserole turned out delicious, and Rolanda relaxed as Minerva told her as much. They swapped funny stories about co-workers and the perils of the Muggle world, and except that they didn't mention Quidditch, it was almost like in good old times. Adjourning to the sofa for dessert, Rolanda enjoyed sitting close to Minerva. While she would have preferred to just hold hands, she found that kissing was tolerable as long as she remembered to breathe.

Next on the agenda was undressing. Rolanda did a good job at it, even though she was bewildered by the differences between Muggle women's clothing and that for men. All the tiny hooks and eyes took some time getting used to. Removing the hairpins from Minerva's bun turned out to be the most difficult part of it, and the most rewarding. "You're beautiful," Rolanda whispered, combing Minerva's hair with her fingers.

Minerva's cheeks were red, and her eyes glittered as she opened her bra and flung it over the back of the sofa. "Let's take this to the bedroom," she demanded, and strode ahead like a queen on her way to her coronation.

Rolanda followed, recalling details about erogenous zones and the stimulation of the clitoris. To her surprise, this was actually easier in practice than it sounded in theory. Minerva did a lot to help. Her sighs and moans guided Rolanda, showed her the way on the map that was Minerva's body, and in the end, Rolanda was rather proud of herself.

Her contentment didn't last long. As soon as she'd recovered from orgasm, Minerva pushed Rolanda onto her back and started to work on her shirt buttons. "You're a little overdressed for the occasion, don't you think so, my dear?"

This hadn't been part of the plan. Rolanda stammered an apology and fled to the bathroom.

 

In the following weeks, they didn't see much of each other. Rolanda started to work double shifts. The idea was to save enough money for a trip to Blackpool in the summer, but if she was honest with herself, she would have to admit that she was simply too chicken-hearted to confront the issue with Minerva.

In the meantime, the flat underwent subtle changes. Cat hair started to appear on the sofa cushions, and a few scratches materialised on the arms and the backrest. One night, Rolanda even found Minerva asleep on the sofa in cat form. Seeing her like that, a complete stranger, made Rolanda inexplicably sad. She had a big lump in her throat as she sat down beside Minerva and tentatively reached out to pet her. The cat woke with a start, hissed, and jumped to the floor, disappearing into the bedroom. Rolanda spent the night on the sofa.

When the silence became unbearable, Rolanda made a decision. She would tell Minerva the truth. She would be open about her complete disinterest in sex and her inability to get aroused, and she would admit to her fear to lose Minerva if she learned all about it. Most important, she would tell Minerva how much she loved her. If only she was honest, Minerva would surely understand.

Rolanda came home early and cooked spaghetti with meatballs, Minerva's favourite dish. She was rewarded with a smile as Minerva entered the door. "Smells delicious."

Pushing meatballs around with her fork, Rolanda watched Minerva eat. Minerva had nearly finished her plate when Rolanda finally worked up the courage to speak. To her great surprise, Minerva interrupted her flow of words, reaching her arm across the table to take Rolanda's hand in hers. "There's no need to explain," she assured her. "I understand. I was scared to death when I first found out about my homosexuality." She pressed Rolanda's hand. "I can imagine how difficult it must have been for you to discover it so late. But it doesn't matter, you must believe me that. As long as we love each other, nothing else matters."

She looked Rolanda straight in the eye and declared, "I love you very much, Rolanda Hooch. Do you feel the same for me?"

Rolanda was bewildered and confused. She doubted that Minerva understood her predicament. But of one thing she was sure. "I love you, Minerva McGonagall," she vowed, matching Minerva's formal tone. "With all my heart."

Minerva rose from her chair, a happy smile on her face. She pulled Rolanda into her arms and kissed her. "Everything's going to be all right now," she whispered. "You don't need to be afraid any longer."

When Minerva steered Rolanda to the sofa, unbuttoning her shirt in between kisses, it became obvious that she had misinterpreted Rolanda's fear. While Rolanda still tried to process the situation, a wild thought shot through her mind. What if she faked it? It shouldn't be too hard to do, and Minerva would be happy. Leaning into Minerva's touch and following her whispered directions, the solution to all her problems suddenly seemed within reach.

Concentrating hard to moan in the appropriate places, Rolanda closed her eyes and gave Minerva access to her body. It wasn't too bad. She didn't feel a thing, but the thought that Minerva loved her made her touch bearable. As Minerva started to kiss her between the legs, Rolanda intensified her moans, remembering the importance of the clitoris.

Rolanda became only gradually aware that Minerva's touch had stopped. She opened her eyes to find Minerva staring at her. Her face was pale and angry. "Why are you lying to me like this?" she snapped. "What are you afraid of? That I'll break off our friendship if you tell me you don't love me romantically?" She grabbed her blouse from the floor and stalked out of the room. At the bedroom door, she turned. "Do you really think so low of me?" The door shut with a bang.

 

Rolanda remained motionless on the sofa long after the last embers had died down in the fireplace. When the night cold became unbearable, she Summoned a blanket and curled up into a ball. Tomorrow she'd talk to Minerva and finally tell her the truth. It was with this thought in mind that she fell into an uneasy sleep.

 _The ground came closer at a frightening speed. Rolanda clung to her broomstick in despair, unable to stop its fall. When she was only milliseconds from shattering on the lawn, her father bellowed a spell, and the Arrow came to a halt. She wanted nothing more than a hug, but he only corrected the position of her hands, arms, and legs and sent her skywards again._

Drenched in sweat, Rolanda woke to find Minerva standing in the bay window. She was already dressed for work. With her strict bun and the new square spectacles, she was suddenly a stranger to Rolanda. The white starched blouse and elegant sheath skirt only added to the impression. Rolanda closed her eyes to remember the young girl with the owlish glasses and the long plaits hanging down her back. When she opened them again, Minerva was gone.

 

The morning was spent in feverish activity. Rolanda practised her apology to Minerva while cleaning the flat. She was just about to cast Reparo on the cat scratches on the sofa when there was a knock at the door. Hiding her wand in the bedroom, Rolanda scanned the flat for signs of magic before she went to answer it.

She needn't have bothered. The stranger at the door was wearing a purple travelling cloak on top of a burgundy suit, which easily gave him away as a wizard. "My name is Albus Dumbledore," he introduced himself. "I'm a friend of Minerva's."

Dumbledore was an animated speaker, and Rolanda watched fascinated as his hand described the perfect arc of a broomstick in flight, over and over again. The gold ring on his pinkie shone bright like a Snitch in the sunlight. His request was a double-edged sword. Agreeing to it would mean a promising future for Minerva in the wizarding world as well as dealing a death blow to their relationship. It would also be an easy way out of her dilemma, Rolanda couldn't help thinking. For a second, she wondered if he really was Minerva's friend. He could just as well be the devil in disguise, bargaining for Rolanda's soul.

It was a shock to hear that for months now, Dumbledore was offering Minerva the position as Hogwarts Transfiguration teacher, an offer which she turned down regularly on Rolanda's behalf. "You must understand," Dumbledore implored. "My hands are bound, at least for the time being. I can't employ you both, not now. The Board of Governors is already giving me a hard time for hiring Minerva." He looked at her beseechingly. "I know what I'm asking of you. But I promise, I have Minerva's best interest in mind."

Rolanda needed time to think and glanced at her Muggle watch. Dumbledore readily took the hint and his leave. Already on the way out, he stopped in the doorway. "Where do I have my mind," he exclaimed, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I wanted to tell you, the Godric's Hollow Goslings are looking for a coach. They're merely a small club for children, but I thought you might be interested. I told the manager about you."

He walked down the corridor, waving good-bye. "Times are changing. I may see you at Hogwarts sooner than you suspect. Toodle-oo." His gold ring glittered in the sunlight as he disappeared down the staircase.

Rolanda closed the door and leaned against it. She knew what she needed to do, but it wasn't an easy task. Minerva's loyalty and stubbornness would never allow her to abandon Rolanda. There was no other way of persuading Minerva to accept Dumbledore's offer than to leave. The events of last night made it plausible that Rolanda had run away. The thought hit her like a Bludger, and she had to fight back the tears in her eyes.

Packing her few belongings, she weighed the pros and cons of her decision. If she stayed and finally told Minerva the truth, would Rolanda be able to make her happy? She doubted it. A prestigious job as a Hogwarts professor on the other hand was a chance for a new beginning. Minerva would finally be able to live the life she deserved, and it would be cruel to stand in her way.

As Rolanda walked down the street to the tram stop, she didn't look back. She was convinced that she did the right thing, but a niggling bit of doubt remained. Until the present day Rolanda wasn't quite sure whether her flight that day was motivated by love or cowardice.

 

 _Reclining in the window seat of her office, Minerva watches the Quidditch pitch. The goal posts cast long shadows in the light of the setting sun, and the players are little more than specks in the sky. She doesn't know how longs she's been sitting like this. Her book has slipped from her lap unnoticed, and the tea in her cup has gone cold. Unwilling to leave the comfortable spot at the open window right now, she casts a heating charm on the teacup and summons the Ginger Newts from her desk._

 _"No Biscuit Bears today?" Rolanda's head appears behind a gargoyle. She grins as she pulls her broom higher and emerges into full view, still wearing her Quidditch gear and goggles._

 _"You ate them all yesterday." Minerva moves aside to give Rolanda enough room to climb through the window. She accomplishes the complex manoeuvre with aplomb and sits down beside Minerva, Banishing broomstick and goggles to the rack behind the door._

 _"May I?" Not waiting for Minerva's answer, Rolanda grabs her teacup and downs it in one go. "Flying makes thirsty," she explains. "Especially when demonstrating dives. The Weasley boy couldn't get enough of it."_

 _"How is he doing?" Minerva pins great hopes on young Charlie Weasley. He's the most talented Seeker Gryffindor has had in nearly a decade. With his help, her House has good chances to win the Quidditch Cup this year._

 _Rolanda pops a Newt into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. "He's a great talent. If he applies himself, he'll be playing for England some day."_

 _The casual mention of the national team startles Minerva, and she glances sideways to take in Rolanda's expression. In the few weeks Rolanda has been working at Hogwarts now, they have established a friendship between colleagues. Based on the unspoken rule not to mention the past, it's a mere shadow of what has been. Minerva wishes for more, and she hasn't lost all hope yet that Rolanda will open up to her. She counts on time as an ally. With every coming day, she knows, the walls between them will crumble a bit more._

 _Gazing into the distance where the sun is disappearing behind the Quidditch pitch, Rolanda seems at ease with herself. Minerva studies her face in the glow of the blood-red sky until darkness falls. She imagines a hand on hers, but the touch is so fleeting, it may as well have been the wind._


End file.
